


A Forever Kind of Thing

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Haikyuu!!, ダイヤのA | Daiya no A | Ace of Diamond
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crossover, M/M, Previous Daisuga, Sass, Snark, lonely hearts club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-25 18:13:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6205519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sugawara Koushi travels to Tokyo to see some old friends and can't take his eyes off of a guy he sees at the bar. Also, Suga is shameless, and Miyuki Kazuya kind of likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I got a prompt on Tumblr about combining DnA and Haikyuu!!. This is the first thing that I thought of, and now I can't get enough of the idea of MiSuga. Please ship this with me, friends!
> 
> Also, it's #protectmiyukikazuyaweek and Suga will take care of my snarky megane son.

As his taxi pulls up, Sugawara Koushi spots Kai Nobuyuki and Yaku Morisuke waiting outside the club. After paying the driver, Suga all but launches himself out of the car at his two long-distance friends and gives them twin slaps on their very surprised backs.

“Suga!” Yaku yelps. “Hitting harder than ever, I see.” He rubs the spot on his shoulder and winces.

Kai, who appears no worse for wear, chortles. “How did you not see that coming, Mori? I’ve been waiting for it since we got here.”

The good-natured bickering between his old friends, now well into their twenties, brings back memories of sweating, barbecues, rivalries, and yet more sweat. However, even though those days of Karasuno versus Nekoma are long gone for Suga, he had managed to hang onto these two threads to the tapestry spun by their high school volleyball teams.

So, any time Suga is in Tokyo, he doesn’t leave until he meets up with two of the better friends he’s made. And that’s on top of the trip he takes down to the capital once every six months or so just to see them.

“So, what’s new in the countryside?” Kai asks, and they all share a laugh. Neither of them are particularly willing to let the memories of Karasuno’s first trip to Tokyo die, especially the Skytree Affair.

Suga laughs. “Oh, not much. A few cows wandered into the lobby at work, and they’ve started letting roosters take the bus.”

With introductions finished, they get in line for admission to the club. It’s not a high-profile place according to Kai, but it’s clean, has decent booze, the music is good, and won’t break the bank to get drunk. In other words, it’s Suga’s kind of place.

After paying a modest cover charge, they walk into the hazy lounge, where the typical malaise of cigarette smoke is surprisingly vacant. “Ah, I love this place,” Yaku comments as he inhales. “No smoking.”

“I didn’t even know they had those,” Suga comments, yet appreciating the lack of stale smoke. “I thought that was just an American thing.”

Kai shrugs. “There are a few around Tokyo, but it doesn’t really spread too far. It’s mostly to appease the tourists. Everyone’s always so surprised that people smoke everywhere in Japan, it’s kind of hilarious.”

Suga shakes his head and fires, “Or maybe you have a terrible sense of humor.” They all share a chuckle as the group settles at a table close to the bar yet near enough to the toilets to accommodate Yaku, who seems to pee every ten minutes while drinking.

A server comes and takes their drink orders. Kai and Suga split a pitcher of some European beer, the name of which neither of them can quite pronounce, and Yaku orders a giant fruity drink that Suga silently wonders if it tastes as blue as it sounds.

Conversation steers into familiar territory: how are ‘the guys’, how is the family, how is work, how is life. The answers are also familiar ones. Yaku is married to his job as a pediatrician, only talks to Kai and Kuroo from his old team, and doesn’t get out much. Kai’s wife is hoping for another child soon to give their year old daughter someone to play with, but Kai would rather wait for a promotion at the factory before adding any more financial burden.

Suga, of course, is relatively the same as he has been the past two years they’ve met up. Single after a long-term relationship ended when he was twenty-four. Still a sous-chef at one of the nicest restaurants in Sendai. Still wondering how natural selection hasn’t claimed the four idiots of Karasuno.

Neither of his companions comment on Suga’s single status because they’ve made that mistake in the past. The fastest way to get Suga to stop talking is to mention his ex and the dubious end to their relationship. There is a snapped ‘I’m not ready’ and heavy, uncomfortable silence.

Except, this time, Suga decides that all of them need a change, so he shares something that he’s been sitting on for a while now.

“I think I’m going to start dating again,” he blurts, and Yaku nearly spits out a mouthful of bright blue cocktail.

Kai audibly gulps, and Suga wonders if this is actually big enough news to warrant this type of reaction. It isn’t as if two years out of the dating scene is terribly unusual. Some people don’t have time, some people don’t want to, and others (like Yaku) don’t need to.

Sure, things with Daichi had ended badly, but it isn’t like they hadn’t both played a part in it. And even though Suga refuses to let it ruin the rest of his life romantically, he’s fairly certain Daichi wouldn’t want that anyway. It just takes a while to get over one’s long-time lover wanting to break things off because he needs to ‘grow up’ and have a ‘normal life’.

But Suga still attended Daichi’s respectable wedding to a respectable girl from a respectable family and genuinely wished them the best of luck. Even resisted the urge to gift them a box of mothballs so Daichi can keep his closet clean.

That’s all in the past, Suga thinks, and he’s put his friends through enough because of it. Not to mention how much he’s beat himself up over it.

“I’m happy for you, Suga,” Yaku says, and Suga knows he’s being truthful. It’s one of the better parts of maintaining ties with these two: they won’t ever lie to him. “Any idea what type of guy you’d want to see?”

Suga shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. Whoever catches my interest, I suppose.” He glances around the room, and his gaze falls to a tall, muscular man in glasses sitting alone at the bar. A very _attractive_ man. “Like that one, for instance.”

Kai shakes his head. “Good luck with that one, man. He’s a pro baseball player, so he probably gets panties in the mail like the school baseball captain gets confessions in his shoe locker.”

“What a waste,” Suga murmurs as he contemplates this beautiful stranger. A strong jaw frames a wide-set mouth with full lips. Even from this distance and through fairly unfashionable glasses, long eyelashes sweep across sun-kissed cheeks. His haircut (which is dangerously close to a mullet) is unfortunate and his clothing (a lime green button-up with pineapples) tragic, but Suga thinks the laugh lines in the corners of his eyes would make it an acceptable loss. Who would rate style over fun, anyway?

Mind made up, Suga pushes back his chair and says, “I’m going in.”

Suga sidles up to the bar and leans up against it, staring at the rainbow array of liquor bottles as he stands not even a foot away from his target. Years of experience reassures Suga that he does, indeed, look good in this particular cut of jeans and lazy flannel shirt, and his hair is the correct ratio of tousled and neat. His build is lean and athletic due to genetics and a date with the gym each morning.

So why is this guy staring at his beer when he could be looking at Suga?

For a moment, Suga’s resolve cracks. He had talked a good game to Yaku and Kai, but the fact is that Suga hasn’t actually flirted or tried to pick up on anyone since high school. He doesn’t even know if this guy is his type, or just another lonely straight guy at a bar by himself.

 _What the hell_ , he thinks to himself as he clears his throat. “Hi!” Suga says with a broad smile, one he has been reassured is a winning one.

The handsome stranger raises a brow and turns to Suga. “Um, do I know you?” he asks in a voice that is velvet enough to make Suga’s knees weak.

Oh, yeah, he is definitely going to work on this guy.

Suga waves a hand. “No, probably not. Just thought you might like some company.” He holds out a hand and offers, “Sugawara Koushi.”

The man eyes Suga from head to toe before hesitantly taking the proffered handshake. “Miyuki Kazuya.”

 _Even his name is hot_ , Suga muses as he grips Miyuki’s hand a little too tightly for comfort. “So, you like this place?”

Miyuki shrugs. “It’s nice to get away from everything. Usually, no one bothers me here.”

“Most people don’t want to get away when they play a game for a living,” Suga mentions, bringing to mind a certain pair who climbed into the ranks of professional volleyball.

“Ha!” Miyuki’s mouth tugs into a smile. “So you _are_ one of those.”

It takes Suga a moment to catch Miyuki’s meaning and blush at the implication. “No, Miyuki-san. I had no idea who you were until my friends told me. I just thought you were cute and I wanted to talk to you.”

Miyuki’s smile turns into something different, something Suga can’t quite read. “You do know this isn’t _that_ kind of bar, right?”

Suga shrugs. "Never said it had to be. As I said, you caught my eye because you look interesting." He raises a hand to flag down the bartender, who brings a glass of the beer he had already been drinking. "Besides, you give off that vibe."

Visibly startled, Miyuki stares at Suga. "Do I really look that gay?"

Shaking his head, Suga chuckles. "Try the 'I'm a loner but am actually lonely' kind."

"Ah." Miyuki picks up his glass and clinks it against Suga's. "And here I thought this was a sure place to escape people who analyze my every move."

Shrinking down into his stool a little, Suga looked away. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Not at all." Draining the last of his drink, Miyuki calls for his check. "By the way, I'm not entirely uninterested. Maybe."

"So what does that even mean?" Suga leans in, entirely too interested for his own good.

From his pocket, Miyuki pulls out his wallet. He gives the bartender easily twice the amount of the check with a wide grin before pulling out a card and handing it to Suga. "Meaning I've never really tried dating guys before, but you are also too cute to be hitting on strangers. I can't make any promises, so give me a call and let's see where this goes."

Inside his head, Suga rails that there is no 'this,' but before he can say as much, Miyuki drags Suga onto his lap and smashes their mouths together for a hot, wet kiss, tinged with a mix of beer and liquor. Surprise gives way to interest, and Suga decides that Miyuki Kazuya is an excellent kisser. But as soon as it begins, it's over.

Suga melts out of Miyuki's lap, dazedly watching as the other man walks out of the bar with a shit-eating grin on his face. When his legs propelling back to the table with Yaku and Kai, both of them gape with slack jaws.

"Dude," Kai says, looking back and forth between Suga and Miyuki's long-gone back. "How do you even do that?"

"What?"

Yaku interjects, "That guy is supposed to have a girlfriend in every city he visits."

Suga sighs and slumps back into his chair. “Can you imagine it, guys?”

“Imagine what?” Kai asks warily.

“A world where a person could actually be into girls _and_ guys.” Suga closes his eyes and captures a mental image of Miyuki, smirking as his deft lips trace their way down Suga’s chest and all the way to his — “Yeah, I should stop thinking about that before we all get embarrassed.”

Yaku gives Suga a sympathetic look. “I know what you mean. I took way too many cold showers in our third year when Lev’s sister started showing up to matches.”

“Alisa?” Suga asks, his mind half-heartedly offering up an image of a statuesque girl with a bubbly disposition.

“Alisa,” Kai sighs. “She is just unfairly hot.”

Humming, Yaku scratches his chin. “Come to think of it, didn't you say Lev once mentioned something about Alisa having a crush on Miyuki, too? Probably thinks it’s funny.”

After this, the chatter turns back to inane territory, and the evening sews up soon after. Since Suga made the trip, Kai and Yaku insist on footing the bill, and Suga learned not to object years ago. They share a taxi to Kai’s place, and Suga follows Yaku home to make use of his spare bedroom.

As he curls up under the covers, head swimming with more than just alcohol, Suga thinks about Miyuki again. About the rumors Yaku and Kai had mentioned. He wonders if it would bother him, being another in a long line of conquests by the guy who Google professes to be one of the best catchers in the NPB.

Google also knows that Miyuki’s team, the Swallows, has a game the next day, and Suga thinks he might just have room in his heart for baseball, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, so baseball is as boring as he remembers.

Suga doesn’t even try not to yawn as he filters out of the ballpark after the Swallows decimate the visiting team from Hokkaido. Miyuki had hit a home run in the fifth that pushed the Swallows ahead, and the Hokkaido Whoevers never could catch up. Suga would fully admit to standing up and screaming with the rest of the crowd, but only because the jumbotron showed a close-up of Miyuki after crossing home plate, fists in the air and head thrown back as he howled in triumph.

As he leans against the brick wall of the stadium, Suga pulls out his phone and shoots a quick text to Miyuki: _You played well today. Nice home run! ♥_

Ignoring the desire to kick himself for the heart emoji, Suga waits for the clots of spectators to die down before braving the train. He never will get used to the sheer volume of humanity in Tokyo.

However, twenty minutes later, his text alert chimes, and Suga is surprised to find a reply from Miyuki. _Thought you didn’t follow baseball._

Fighting off a smile, Suga keys in a quick: _I don’t, but you did hit a home run. Since you have very nice arms, it isn’t surprising you can do that._

“Oh, God,” Suga says out loud, his face burning with embarrassment that he’s throwing himself at Miyuki so brazenly. He doesn’t know what it is about guys with buff arms and nice legs, but he’s beginning to see a pattern to his attraction.

He nearly drops his phone when it rings. Eyes bulging when he sees Miyuki’s name, Suga scrambles to answer. “H-hello?”

Miyuki chuckles through the phone. “You sound more confident when you’re texting, you know.”

“Be nice!” Suga squeaks, face flaming. “I didn’t think you’d actually call me. I was unprepared.”

This draws a full laugh from Miyuki. Through his amusement, he manages, “I can’t figure you out. You’re either cute or completely brazen, and I can’t tell at all.”

Suga leans back against the wall and looks up at the heavens. He can’t even mistake it now; he definitely has a thing for Miyuki. Every word that comes out of his mouth is sassy and utter catnip to Suga’s sensibilities. If only Miyuki were actually interested in guys.

But that’s no reason not to continue flirting shamelessly. “I hear I’m a bit of both. I hope you don’t mind the type.”

“I’m not really sure I have a type,” Miyuki replies. “But I’m pretty sure it’s not going to count against you.”

“Good.” Suga is grinning over the phone. “I wouldn’t want to change my personality. Nobody’s _that_ hot.”

Suga’s whole body tingles when Miyuki erupts into a full belly laugh until he wheezes. When he finally catches his breath, Miyuki throws a curveball that Suga’s baseball-immune self doesn’t have a chance to catch. “I don’t suppose you’re still anywhere near the park, are you?”

“I’m outside, actually,” Suga says in an even tone that belies that pounding of his heart and quickening breath. “I didn’t want to fight the crowds for the train.”

“Hmm.” Miyuki is quiet for a full minute before he adds, “Go find the nearest guy in a white shirt with a walkie talkie and tell him your name.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because I’m going to take you for dinner, Sugawara-san.”

Suga really does drop his phone this time.

Miyuki is laughing as Suga puts his battered phone back up to his ear. “You’re definitely more cute than anything,” Miyuki says, and Suga just is _sure_ that Miyuki knows he’s blushing.

"Oh?" Suga's entire body is thrumming. "What brought that on?"

"Curiosity. I'll see you in ten minutes, Sugawara-san."

"Just Suga is fine."

"Then Suga it is."

His mission to spot a member of security comes to fruition quickly, only requiring Suga to round a corner. The security guard gives him a strange look but wordlessly escorts Suga into a Staff Only hallway before finally grunting, "Stay here."

Appropriating a nearby bench, Suga waits for about five minutes before the door the guard disappeared through opens once again. This time, however, it's Miyuki on the other side with wet hair, and dressed in a hoodie and jeans. "Ready, Suga-chan?"

Suga manages not to vault out of his seat as he says, "Of course."

Miyuki extends an arm for Suga to take and a smile, both happily accepted, and they follow a maze of hallways until an exit spits them out into a private parking lot. Holding out his keys, Miyuki hits the unlock button on the fob, and the brake lights of a small and unassuming Nissan flare to life.

"What, no Ferrari?" Suga half-jokes.

Quirking a brow, Miyuki asks, "Are you sure you're not one of those?"

Suga chuckles. "I was totally going to laugh at you if you did have one."

"Well played, Suga-chan." He opens the door for Suga. "Not really my speed, either."

They ride in relative silence as Suga watches the passing scenery, generic rock music trickling out of the stereo. After about thirty minutes, they pull up to an average-looking apartment building and take the parking spot marked 2G.

Turning to Miyuki, Suga asked, "Where are we?"

"My place," Miyuki answers with a calm that Suga envies. "We’re going to have dinner, remember?"

Suga is almost disappointed that they're not going out until Miyuki adds, "I'm going to cook tonight. I never get to cook anymore."

As he follows Miyuki through past the doorman and into the elevator, Suga asks, "Why not?"

Miyuki's smile tightens just enough that Suga nearly misses it. "I don't cook for one. What's the point?"

Unable and unwilling to argue the point, Suga quietly follows Miyuki to his door. He doesn't miss that Miyuki doesn't announce his arrival, but makes a point of saying, "Pardon the intrusion."

"Consider yourself pardoned, Suga-chan," Miyuki says before dragging Suga to his chest for a long, lingering kiss. "I've been thinking about doing that again since last night," he murmurs across Suga's swollen lips.

Suga growls and tracks kisses down the slope of Miyuki's neck. Between pecks, he asks, "What happened to not knowing if you're into guys or not?"

"Mmm." Miyuki thrusts his fingers into Suga's hair and leans into the touch of lips on his bare throat. "So far, it doesn't really feel all that different."

Sinking his teeth into Miyuki's still clothed collarbone in reply, Suga says, "You would know better than me."

"More research is definitely warranted." With that, Miyuki tugs his hoodie and his t-shirt off in one swift motion, baring what Suga would certainly categorize as a muscular chest to go with the tightly wound power in his arms.

"Oh, yeah," Suga breathes as he attacks this new canvas with fervor. It isn't until he's on his knees with Miyuki's zipper halfway pulled down that Suga's desire-clouded brain remembers the entire purpose of his visit. Fingers still wrapped around the fly, Suga purrs, "So, baseball-kun, where's my dinner?" Miyuki looks down at him in surprise, but when he opens his mouth to reply, Suga snaps, "And if you say that this is it, I swear to all the gods I will bite it off."

Miyuki looks back and forth between Suga and his own arousal before he bursts into laughter. Tears trickling out of the corners of his eyes, he staggers back until he buckles onto the couch. When he finally catches his breath, he wheezes, "Oh, Suga-chan, you are seriously more fun than any one person has the right to be."

With a groan, Miyuki peels himself off the couch and tosses the tv remote to a still-stunned Suga before putting his t-shirt back on. "Dinner should be ready in about half an hour."

Glad to have something to do other than following Miyuki into an unfamiliar kitchen, Suga flicks on the television set and peruses the available channels. He nearly gives up his search and turns off the tv when he tries out the DVR listing and hits the jackpot. All of the newest episodes of his favorite cooking show are queued and ready for the taking.

Suga is halfway through his second episode when Miyuki re-enters the room bearing two steaming bowls of ramen. His brows raise in surprise at what Suga is watching. "So you're a foodie then?"

Accepting the bowl so Miyuki can tug the kotatsu closer to the couch, Suga shrugs. "I guess you could say that. I am a chef by trade, after all." He colors at the grandiose nature of his proclamation and amends, "Well, a sous-chef."

"I'm impressed, Suga-chan." Miyuki wraps a wad of noodles around his chopsticks and slurps them down. "Well, I'm a trial and error home cook, so be kind."

"Of course," Suga affirms, not mentioning that the mere smell of the broth is making him ravenous. "Spicy. I like it."

Miyuki nods. "Only way to eat it."

The conversation dies as Suga digs into his dinner, which is actually as delicious as its fragrance has promised. It isn't until they're both finished and curled next to each other on the couch that Suga mentions, "You made fresh noodles. They were amazing."

Shaking his head, Miyuki corrects him. "I actually made them this morning. I do it when I'm bored. Though they usually end up going home with the doorman because his wife can't cook."

Suga smiles into Miyuki’s sleeve. “You’re a good Samaritan, Miyuki Kazuya.”

“Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to keep.”

With a harrumph, Suga nuzzles into Miyuki’s embrace. “The ‘girlfriend in every city’ thing, right?”

“Ha!” Miyuki leans back to fix Suga with an appraising gaze. “You know about that?”

“I hear things.” Suga cranes his neck to give Miyuki a quick peck. “I figured it wasn’t true after about five minutes talking to you. You are terrible at flirting.”

They both chuckle after Miyuki admits, “I can’t even deny that.”

A comfortable silence stretches before Suga turns around from his position under Miyuki’s arm and straddles Miyuki’s lap. “So, you live in a regular apartment alone and make noodles for your doorman. You drink alone in a regular bar, drive an economical car and listen to regular music.” Leaning in to Miyuki’s ear, Suga whispers, “Being a celebrity is completely wasted on you.”

Miyuki’s lips are next to Suga’s own ear as he breathily replies, “If I weren’t so boring, I never would have met you.” He nips at Suga’s earlobe. “Can’t have that, now can we?”

Suga’s breath catches at the sensation, and he rolls his hips to fuel the simmering arousal in his lower belly. Miyuki hums in approval as he slides his hands in the back pockets of Suga’s jeans, hefting him even closer for a sloppy, urgent kiss.

When they finally part, Suga meets Miyuki’s eyes and asks, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Are you trying to change my mind, Suga-chan?”

“Definitely not.”

“Then it seems that we’re of an accord.” Miyuki slides off Suga’s shirt, but as he goes for the top button of his jeans, a tinny rendition of the latest J-pop craze blares from Suga’s pocket. Miyuki’s hand dives into the pocket before Suga can stop him, and he answers with cheery, “Sugawara Koushi’s phone. He’s indisposed at the moment, so please leave a message sometime that isn’t now.”

Mouth hanging open in horror, Suga wrests his phone from Miyuki’s grasp. He sighs in relief when he sees it’s just Yaku, probably wondering why he isn’t back. Doing his best to dodge Miyuki’s lightning fast grabs for his phone, Suga manages a quick text that he’s okay and won’t be back tonight insert-wink-wink-emoji.

That business taken care of, Suga chucks his phone onto the kotatsu and turns back to Miyuki with a sly smile. “Now, where were we?”

“My thoughts exactly, Suga-chan.”

 

 

It’s nearly three in the morning before Miyuki surrenders to the need to sleep, with batting practice looming fast and large at ten. Suga definitely doesn’t complain, as he’s sure he’s not going to be able to walk straight in the morning. Miyuki is an adept pupil when it comes to hands-on instruction. And surprisingly enough, Suga thinks, not nearly embarrassed as he would have thought for his first time putting his hands in certain places.

No, there sure hadn’t been any hesitation, Suga recalls with a blush.

Curling up on Miyuki’s heavenly mattress, some fancy brand of memory foam Miyuki claims helps keep his knees and shoulders  in good shape, Suga leans into the warmth of the body nestled against his back and tries not to think about how much he has really missed this.

Suga awakens alone to the heady scent of cooking food. His tired brain registers fish, rice, and vegetables of some sort, which propel him out of bed despite his limbs protesting any and all movement.

“Morning, Suga-chan,” Miyuki chimes as his wrist deftly flicks the vegetables in the wok. “Sorry it’s so early, but I have to leave in a half hour.”

“S’okay,” Suga replies mid-yawn. “You know, if you weren’t some baseball genius, you could totally have a future in the culinary arts. You really understand flavors.”

Miyuki shrugs. “I can’t play baseball forever. It’s kind of nice to know I’ll have options other than work at the shop or coach high schoolers.”

“Shop?”

Nodding, Miyuki turns off the range and starts to dole out the food. “My dad’s metalworking shop. A friend of mine from high school runs it now, but I think he’s itching to move back to Chiba and start a family big enough to bring mullets back into fashion again.”

The thought makes Suga smile, and he almost misses a key word. “So, is your dad retired?”

“He died.” Miyuki’s tone is deliberately, painfully devoid of expression, and Suga’s entire chest aches at the confession.

Steering clear of a subject he doesn’t think Miyuki is quite ready to talk about, Suga steers the conversation back to more neutral waters. “So, how did you even get everyone to think you were so . . . experienced, anyway?”

Miyuki chortles. “It’s amazing what people can turn into truth just by saying it enough times. I had _one_ night when I cut loose in public and washed some bad stuff away with booze and women, and the mantle stuck. I don’t think I even touched a girl anywhere but a hand or shoulder until I was, what, twenty?”

Suga’s bite of fish nearly evacuates itself from his mouth. “Seriously? I had sex for the first time when I was sixteen.”

“But you probably thought it would be a forever kind of thing, right?” Miyuki passes Suga a cup of green tea. “You seem like the type.”

“Yeah.” Suga huffs and laments the sharp drop in his appetite. “Daichi was my first boyfriend, and we were together for nine years. It felt like we were together forever, and that is definitely want I wanted. But he wanted to be a good son and give his parents grandchildren to carry on the proud Sawamura name.” Suga can’t help but roll his eyes. “I hope his wife knows what she’s in for.”

“Sawamura? Really?” Miyuki snorts as his lips spread into a fond smile. “I had a Sawamura. Except he was a loud idiot pitcher who always exceeded my expectations.” Miyuki snips off a bite of fish and chews it, scratching his chin. “He plays for Kanagawa now.”

From there, the conversation wanes into the mundane sharing of memories, with Miyuki reflecting on his high school baseball career and Suga talking about his past in volleyball. It spills out into the car, where Miyuki offers to drop him off at a bus station as close to Yaku’s place as he can get without being late for practice, which turns out to be only a few stops down the line.

Suga collapses on Yaku’s spare bed and immediately falls asleep, falling prey to the mere four hours of sleep he had managed. _Worth it_ , he thinks. And he won’t suffer nearly as much as Miyuki, who will be sweating in the hot sun wearing polyester and a leather shirt for most of the day.

Baseball really is ridiculous.


	3. Chapter 3

Yaku returns to the apartment around seven, right on time to see Suga draped on the couch with Thai takeout and Miyuki’s next game on the television. “Your wimpy drunken noodle is on the kotatsu, Mori.”

Ignoring the dirty look Yaku casts his way, Suga makes a space on the couch for his friend and squints at the tv set. “Is being the third batter a good thing?”

“Well, yeah,” Yaku answers, snapping apart his chopsticks. “The first batter should be someone who is good at getting on base and a fast runner. The second is usually someone with a high batting average, or someone who is good at bunting to advance the runner. The third batter needs to be someone with power to push the previous base runners as far forward as possible so the fourth batter, the cleanup, can get a big hit and score runs.”

Suga’s nose wrinkles. “I’m sure it’s actually more interesting than you make it sound, but I’m trying to understand this sport, even if I don’t think I’ll ever really like it.”

Yaku’s eyes narrow as he turns to Suga. “Is that who answered your phone last night? You spent the night doing _that_?”

“He’s actually very sweet,” Suga says, and he knows his smile is smug and doesn’t care at all. “You shouldn’t call him a ‘that’. It’s rude, Mori-chan.”

He sees Yaku redden at the pet name and hides his amusement with a mouthful of curry.  They finish their meal in silence as the baseball game drags on. Suga notes that Yaku seems into it, despite his own struggle to maintain focus.

As he noticed at the ballpark the night before, Miyuki is obviously very good, and Suga isn’t left wondering why everyone thinks he’s a highly eligible bachelor and not the lonely homebody Suga knows him to be. But he isn’t ignorant of why Yaku is worried about the situation, either.

However, Suga isn’t chasing straight ball players. Suga is chasing that hot dweeb who makes noodles for his doorman when he’s bored and hates to eat alone.

In the middle of a commercial break, Suga blurts, “He cooks. Actually, he cooks really well. He made me dinner _and_ breakfast.”

“I’m not even going to ask how that happened,” Yaku answers with a sigh. “But you seem happy, so do what you have to do, I guess.”

Suga is surprised when Yaku drops his chopsticks into his takeout carton and thunks it on the kotatsu. “Don’t let him hurt you, all right?”

Throwing an arm around Yaku’s shoulders, Suga plants a kiss on his friend’s temple. “I’ll be careful, okay. But I’m more worried about hurting him, honestly. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so lonely before, and I don’t think I actually told him I don’t live in Tokyo yet.”

Yaku shrugs and turns his attention back to his dinner and the game. “Well, maybe it’ll be all right. There’s a lid for every pot. Maybe you were meant to be with someone who’s a genius at a sport you don’t even like. Maybe he is the straight guy meant to fall in love with the gayest volleyball setter ever.”

“I’d object, but you’ve never met Oikawa Tooru, so it isn’t your fault.” They share a laugh and enjoy the rest of their meal while Suga slowly but surely figures out how baseball is supposed to work. After the game ends, Suga shoots Miyuki the most inappropriate text he can think of while he talks to some reporter during a post-game interview. Something about pitch selection and momentum; Suga doesn’t know what any of it means.

Ten minutes later, Miyuki replies with: _I have never actually had anyone tell me my ass looks good on TV before. You’re full of firsts for me, Suga-chan_.

After conjuring the mental image of Miyuki’s face after reading the text, Suga can’t help but giggle. Nor can he resist Yaku ripping his phone out of his hand and reading it. “Oh, my god, this is actually happening. You’re texting like a teenager with a celebrity. How even —” He huffs and throws himself back into the spongy depths of the couch. “I never truly knew the meaning of the phrase ‘I can’t even’ until today.”

"Well, here's to me always exceeding your expectations." Suga lies back and allows Yaku to change the channel and rereads his already long string of texts with Miyuki.

It's been a long time since he's flirted so outrageously with anyone, but with this relative stranger, it feels almost as natural as breathing. And Suga thinks that maybe Miyuki needs him, too. Without so much as a cat to keep him company, Suga wonders if Miyuki had started going to that little bar hoping that someone would talk to him like a regular guy again, even if Suga can't even fathom the thought of Miyuki being regular at all, despite his simplistic lifestyle.

But at some point, he has to tell Miyuki that things can't last unless one of them happens to move quite a distance. Or maybe they can make it work long distance. Miyuki does have a long off season, and Suga won't entirely rule out the idea of moving to Tokyo. Providing that Miyuki wants Suga for anything more than an experiment in sexuality.

That last thought makes Suga shiver.

However, as soon as it appears, Suga shoves it out of his mind. A lack of faith will kill anything they could have before it starts, and while Suga feels ready to start a new relationship, the thought of ending one again makes his everything ache.

His thoughts are preempted by the sound of his ringtone. A soft smile tugs at his lips as he answers. "Sorry, not at the ballpark today. Too hot."

"Well, if you do ever want to go, just let me know. I get two free seats to every game. It would be a waste not to use them, because they're actually pretty good ones."

"Ooh, nice!" Suga answers a little too brightly. “Does that extend to visiting cities, too?"

"Actually, yes, it does. Are you looking to go on a road trip?"

Suga turns to Yaku and gives him a pleading look. Without a word, Yaku picks up the remnants of their meal and heads into the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, Suga prepares to rip the bandage off in one swift motion. “No, it’s because I live in Sendai.”

Miyuki is silent for a long time, and Suga begins to shrivel into the couch. In the end, it’s Suga that breaks the silence. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just had a lot of fun with you, and I didn’t want to —”

“It’s okay, Suga-chan!” Miyuki interjects, voice bright and bubbly and all _wrong_. “We had our fun, and we can have some more until you leave.”

“Kazuya —”

“Do you want to come over tonight? Tomorrow is an off-day and I could probably play hooky if I wanted to.”

Suga freezes. The next day is his last full day in Tokyo, and he can’t think of anywhere he would rather spend it. But hearing the underlying thread of desperation in Miyuki’s tone, he doesn’t rule out the idea that being together one last time will just make it that much harder to part.

But the thought of not even saying goodbye face to face could be just that much worse.

“I’d love to.”

Forty-five minutes later, a taxi deposits Suga in front of Miyuki’s apartment building, and five minutes after that, Miyuki pulls into the parking lot. Without a word of greeting or apology, Suga takes Miyuki’s hand in his, and they head through the door and up the elevator side by side.

Inside, Miyuki gives Suga a wide, plastic smile. “Shall I cook for you again, Suga-chan?”

“Don’t,” Suga croaks. His hands frame Miyuki’s cheeks, thumb stroking the sun-kissed skin under his eyes. “Don’t do that.”

Miyuki’s smile melts for a split second. “I thought you liked my cooking.”

“Don’t shut me out. Not now.” Suga pulls Miyuki’s head down, brushing their mouths together before resting his forehead against Miyuki’s. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I didn’t count on falling for you in three days.”

Eyes widening, Miyuki reaches up and brushes a finger across the span of Suga’s lips. “So, if I were a fry cook at McDonald’s and not in the tabloids every other day for someone I’m supposed to have dated, would you still fall for me then?”

Suga shakes his head and fights past the catch in his throat as he answers, “Having a common job will never make you a common man, Kazuya. I just wish I could make you a happier one.”

This time, when their lips meet, there is no hesitation and there are no words as they carefully and reverently strip away the layers between them. A trail of discarded clothing leads the way to the bedroom, and Suga couldn’t fight the feeling that he is meant to be there.

However, as Suga spreads his legs to allow Miyuki to prepare him, Miyuki shakes his head. “Can you — can we . . . switch this time?”

“Okay,” Suga says, surprised. “It’s going to hurt a little at first.”

“I know.” Miyuki reaches for the tube of lube and puts it in Suga’s hand. “But it’s you.”

Heart swelling, Suga kisses Miyuki breathless as they roll over and switch positions. He swallows Miyuki’s surprised gasps as Suga’s fingers work him open and ready. When the gasps finally melt into moans, Suga pulls away. “Are you ready?”

“Please!”

The need in Miyuki’s request fills Suga, and he threads their fingers together as he pushes in. He waits and soothes as discomfort eventually gives way to urgency, and they find a rhythm together. Spent and sated, Suga drapes himself over Miyuki’s sweating, heaving chest.

“I never knew . . . I didn’t know anything could feel like that.” Miyuki traces the lines of Suga’s face in wonder. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here. For being you.” He wraps his arms around Suga and pulls him tight. “Thank you.”

Suga smiles as he nuzzles into the hollow of Miyuki’s shoulder, but laughs when Miyuki says, “I have come in my ass. It feels really weird.”

A laugh squeaks out of Suga before he can stop it, and it doesn’t take long for amusement to overtake both of them. An idea hits Suga. “Hey, you wanna go hang out in the bathtub?”

Miyuki hums. “Excellent idea.”

Soon, they are nestled into each other in steaming water, and Suga can feel the tension melt out of Miyuki’s body. A lazy finger traces patterns on the bare flesh of his sides, drawing a purr out of Suga.

“I think I figured it out, by the way,” Miyuki says suddenly.

Suga’s brow knits as he tries to figure out what Miyuki is talking about. “Figured what out?”

“Whether I’m into guys or not.”

Over his shoulder, Suga wonders aloud, “And?”

“And I think I figured a lot of things out.” He kisses the top of Suga’s head. “I’m pretty sure it’s just you.”

“Oh?”

Miyuki shrugs. “But it goes with pretty much anyone. It’s just you, Suga-chan.”

Suga stills. "Do you mean that, Kazuya?"

Crushing Suga to his chest, Miyuki rests his chin on the crown of Suga's head and murmurs, "More than you know."

They linger in the bath quietly after this until the water grows uncomfortably cool, and Suga uses this time to think about the past few days. About the rollercoaster of meeting Miyuki, about getting to know him in ways Suga fears no one else has bothered to do in years, about the intense sense of gratification he feels just being  _around_  Miyuki. If the notion of soul mates weren't ridiculous to Suga, he would think they're meant to be.

But one's destiny is their own, and Suga has some consideration to do in regards to his own.

The next day begins with Miyuki calling the pitching coach and begging off of practice. He doesn't even pretend to be ill; he is given the day off regardless. After that, they share a simple breakfast of fried tofu and rice. However, when Suga moves to pull on his shoes, expecting a day out packed full of activity, a shirtless Miyuki asks, "And where do you think you're going?"

Suga explains himself, and Miyuki laughs even harder. "No deal, Suga-chan. I don't want to share you with anyone today, so I'd rather not open the front door unless it's for a delivery guy."

Grinning, Suga says truthfully, "That sounds perfect."

The rest of the day passes with little urgency and little motion, with long, lethargic bouts of cuddling on the couch, marathoning their mutual favorite show, and an occasional intermission to make out or make love. Suga cooks lunch this time, but neither are inclined to make dinner and share a pizza instead.

Their energy doesn't pick up until Suga takes a bathroom break and returns to find Miyuki on the other side of the door. He staples Suga to the wall for a hungry kiss, and Suga knows this is different from the sedate couplings that had characterized the rest of their day.

Miyuki prepares Suga while they're still standing, lips never parting, and as soon as Suga growls for more, picks him up by the bottom and thrusts inside with a smooth, swift stroke.

"Fuck," Suga cries, feeling fuller than he's ever been. "Move."

Suga’s eyes roll back as he wraps his legs around Miyuki’s waist, listening to a voice he only vaguely recognizes as his own babbling expletives at the ceiling. Miyuki’s mouth is hot and active on the column of his throat, and Suga knows he’s going to come quickly.

But Miyuki comes first, fast and _hard_ , yet continues to push his way through his orgasm as he fists Suga’s length. It doesn’t take long for Suga’s humming body to give in, and they both sink to the floor, still connected and trying to catch their breath.

“Wow,” Suga pants as sprawls out on Miyuki’s chest, unable to raise his head more than an inch to speak.

“Yeah,” Miyuki agrees with a nod. “I think that’s the best one yet.”

Suga hums as he wraps his arms around Miyuki’s torso. As he smells the scent of sex in the air around him, however, he remembers why he’s there. And that he won’t be after the next morning. Tears prick in the corners of his eyes unbidden as he murmurs, “I don’t want to go.”

Fingers thread through Suga’s hair. “I know, Suga-chan.”

They lie there quietly for almost a half hour before Miyuki begs mercy for his aching back, and they head straight to bed. With Miyuki’s arms wrapped tightly around his middle, Suga takes the rest of his waking hours with Miyuki and allows himself to feel the sense of peace it gives him for as long as it can last.

He isn’t ignorant to the purpose of their last forceful coupling. But what he doesn’t know is how to answer the message Miyuki had sent. They haven’t even known each other a week, but feelings are vast and broad and so damn complicated that Suga will need some time and a lot of soul searching to properly reply.

And he’ll never be able to do that here, with the strong, heady presence of Miyuki overpowering his judgment.

When Suga awakens, the sense of loss is immediate and acute. Miyuki’s side of the bed is cold, and his glasses are no longer on the nightstand.

Jumping out of bed as quickly as his protesting body will allow, Suga looks around for some sign of Miyuki. He spies his own clothes neatly folded on top of the dresser, as well as a bathrobe. Suga takes the robe and shoves his arms into it as he rushes out of the room. He looks in the kitchen first and finds an iPad propped up on a wrapped plate of food, a post-it note stuck on the screen with ‘Play Me’ written on it.

Hand shaking, Suga removes the note and wakes the tablet up, finding it in camera mode queued up to the video library. There is only one video, timestamped two hours previous, and Suga bites his lip and plays it.

Miyuki’s hair is wet, like he’s just come out of the shower, and a smile Suga doesn’t think is a smile at all clings to his lips.

“Hello, Suga-chan. I guess I finally found a point to cooking for one.” Miyuki waves, and Suga’s throat tightens. “I’d like to think I’m not being a coward for doing this, but I’m sure you understand why. I thought we had an understanding last night, and you’re better at reading people than anyone I’ve ever met.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” Chuckling, Miyuki scratches the back of his head and ducks his chin. “Wow, this is really embarrassing.”

Suga reaches out a finger and traces the line of Miyuki’s face on the screen as his lower lip wobbles. He freezes when Miyuki finally looks up and greets him with a wide, luminescent smile. “I don’t know what it is about you, Suga-chan, but out of all the people who have come and gone in my life, I think you’re one of the ones I’ll miss the most.

“If you’re ever in Tokyo, don’t be a stranger. Even if I probably don’t deserve that kind of loyalty from you after this, I’m willing to take what I can get because you’re worth it.”

The video pauses after the last frame of Miyuki taking a shuddering breath and closing his eyes, and Suga doesn’t bother choking back the tears streaming down his face. He dashes away the trails of grief burned into his cheeks with a bathrobe that still smells like Miyuki, and starts to eat the plate of food in front of him because it’s all he can do with his trembling hands.

The well-prepared and seasoned food tastes like wood in his mouth but it doesn’t matter. It takes him an hour to eat, but that doesn’t matter, either.

It takes him three tries to successfully call a taxi, and he can barely spit out Yaku’s address so he can go back and prepare for his return trip to Sendai. Yaku isn’t home, for which Suga is grateful (if guiltily), and he resumes his cab ride to the train station.

He happily springs for the extra five-thousand yen to take the bullet train instead of the slower line, hoping that having three fewer hours of quiet time in his head will keep him from dwelling on that stupid little video.

That works as well as he expects, which is not at all, and as he slumps into his own apartment, so much emptier than when he’d left, Suga sits on the couch, not bothering to remove his shoes, and turns on the television only to find Sendai’s local team playing the same Hokkaido Whoevers Miyuki’s team had played a few days before.

Seriously, though, fuck baseball.


	4. Chapter 4

Going back to work the next day is sweet relief for Suga. The head chef scolds him for taking time off in the middle of the summer busy season and assigns him the hardest, shittiest tasks in the kitchen. Suga delves into them with fervor. After all, it's easier not to think about Miyuki when he is elbow deep in chicken guts.

When he comes home for the night, Suga can barely muster the will to peel himself out of his clothes before flinging his weary body onto his bed. He doesn't fall asleep until well into the night, his mind filled with his time in Tokyo and his belly with longing. Yet the hand down his shorts relieves only the physical manifestation of his ache, leaving a larger longing in its place.

The next week drags by in a similar fashion: spending his entire morning at the gym sweating bullets, working all day, _not_ sleeping all night, and fighting the impulse to look over at every door that opens near him, hoping to see floppy hair and a stupid smirk come through it.

But enough is enough.

On his first day off after his return, Suga forces himself out of bed and into clean clothes. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he knows he needs to be somewhere other than alone in his apartment trapped with his thoughts. Eventually, his feet find a rhythm, and they carry him to a nearby grocery store, and he supposes it’s time to do some shopping anyway.

His basket is halfway full, but not nearly heavy enough to drop. He does anyway, however, when he sees a painfully familiar face blocking the way to the broccoli and carrots.

And _she_ is there, too.

The noise garners the attention of most other shoppers within a five meter radius; Sawamura Daichi and his wife, Yumi, are no exception. They look over with twin turns of the head, yet vastly different expressions. Yumi grins at Suga, knowing him only as an old friend of Daichi’s and a guest at her wedding, but Daichi looks so very small, shrinking into himself at the sight of his spurned lover.

“Suga!” Daichi yelps before diving to pick up Suga’s shopping basket. “Are you all right?”

Their gazes meet, neither of them speak, but Suga knows that Daichi can see it by the way the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes drift down in a frown he doesn’t allow to reach his lips. They’ve known each other far too long to miss it, even after two years of emotional radio silence.

“Thank you,” Suga finally manages as he takes the basket, careful not to touch Daichi’s hand. Yumi doesn’t know anything about their past, as far as Suga is aware, but he doesn’t want to give either of them the wrong idea.

Daichi opens his mouth to respond, and Suga gives him a curt shake of the head.

His point clear, Suga gives them both a brilliant smile and says, “Well, it’s nice to see you both again! Take care.” With more calm than he would have thought himself capable, Suga waves and walks past them and shovels way too much broccoli into his basket before making a beeline to the spice aisle. Glad his hands know what he needs to buy better than his brain does, Suga drops various little jars and packets into the rest of his purchases.

Head finally clearing away the remnants of the awkward encounter, Suga is humming a nonsense little tune at the bagging counter when he feels rather than sees someone settling at the next station over. His eyes narrow when he sees that it’s Daichi.

“What do you want?” he hisses. “Isn’t this weird enough?”

Leaning over, Daichi murmurs, “Yumi’s in the bathroom. I wanted to see what was bothering you without an audience.”

“Like you have the right,” Suga grumbles as he shoves his items into the reusable bag he purchased because he had left the dozen or so he already owns at home.

Daichi shakes his head. “I know I don’t, but I know you, Suga. I don’t know what it is, but you need to talk about it before you explode.”

“Ha!” Suga wheels around and pokes a bunch of celery into Daichi’s chest. “You mean how _you_ needed to talk about your stupid little countdown to when you had to grow up and _leave me_ because we couldn’t get married or have kids of our own?” He crosses his arms. “Oh, wait, you exploded on that one, didn’t you?”

Sighing, Daichi says quietly, “I deserve that.”

“Fucking right you do.” Suga finishes packing his groceries and slings the bag over his shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m busy _not_ being heartbroken over you anymore, Sawamura. Have a nice life, and I hope your kids don’t grow up thinking they owe their happiness to you like some kind of debt.”

Suga storms out of the store, knowing his voice had risen way above casual conversation and very aware that he probably attracted an audience. He doesn’t turn back to look until he feels a familiar hand wrap around his bicep and tug him to a stop.

“What!” Suga spits as he stands chest to chest with Daichi, but his irritation withers when he notices the look on Daichi’s face. Sadness. Weariness. _Pity_. Softly, he amends, “What do you want from me, Daichi? You already made it clear that I wasn’t enough for you. I don’t know what else to give you that you already haven’t thrown back in my face.”

“I want you to be happy, Suga,” Daichi says as his head hangs low.

Suga momentarily wishes he could take back what he said, but it’s the truth. No more, no less. Instead, he shakes his head. “You don’t get a say in that anymore.”

“But I still care about you, and I can’t help it!”

Fists clenched, Daichi steels his jaw and readies himself for Suga’s retort, but Suga just sags and plops his forehead on Daichi’s chest. “I don’t know what to do, Daichi.”

He feels Daichi exhale heavily into his hair. “Give me five minutes. I’ll send the groceries home with Yumi, and you and I can have a cup of coffee. Okay?”

The malaise of the past week quickly overtaking Suga, he bites his lips and nods into Daichi’s shirt. Daichi pats him on the shoulder and heads back into the store. Eternity passes by less slowly than those five minutes Suga spends staring at the bricks under his feet, but he wonders if he can opt back into eternity when Daichi returns.

Daichi slides the shopping bag from Suga’s shoulder and slings it over his own, far too calm and resolute for Suga’s taste. It’s like he hasn’t changed at all since they met, but Suga can’t even figure out what to do with his day off anymore.

They arrive at a small coffee shop Suga has always loved, and he knows Daichi is aware of that. He doesn’t even object when Daichi smoothly orders for both of them and takes a seat far away from any of the café’s other patrons.

“I don’t suppose you’ll just tell me what’s up with you so I don’t have to guess,” Daichi says without preamble as he pushes Suga’s drink across the table. “What’s going on with you, Suga?”

Suga nurses his latte, accepting the fortifying warmth leeching into his hands. “I met someone when I was in Tokyo the other week.”

“To see Yaku and Kai, right?”

“Mmmhmm.” Suga sips, enjoying the flavor and wondering why he doesn’t treat himself to it more often. Mentally, he makes a note to stop by this place at least once a week. “We had a lot of fun together, and I haven’t enjoyed just _being_ with someone for so long.”

At Suga’s pointed look, Daichi flushes and averts his eyes.

“Anyway, he really liked me, too, and I think we both filled in some gaps for each other.” Suga heaves a weary breath and continues, “But I messed it up by not telling him I don’t even live in Tokyo until we were both in too deep.”

Daichi gives Suga a surprised glance. “I didn’t think you were the type to fall for someone you just met.”

Suga chortles. “I didn’t, either. But we just, you know . . . clicked. We both love cooking and the Food Channel, being lazy on the couch, and the sex was _great_.” Suga’s cheeks turn red, but not as red as Daichi’s. “But you probably think that’s stupid.”

“No I don’t.”

Suga starts in surprise. “What?”

Giving Suga a sad smile, Daichi hums. “I fell in love with you the moment I met you, Suga. It isn’t all that different. Four days can mean a lot.”

“So can nine years.”

Accepting that blow as his due, Daichi falls silent as Suga absorbs all of this. He had expected, maybe even hoped for, Daichi to talk some sense into him, to tell him how ridiculous it is to pine after someone he has barely known for two weeks. But he doesn’t, and Suga may be even more confused than he was when they started this conversation.

Daichi speaks first as he asks, “So, you said you didn’t know what to do. What are your options?”

“I can’t really move to Tokyo just to chase after him.” Suga snorts. “That’s not just flippant. It’s impractical.”

“How so?” Daichi asks, surprising Suga for the Nth time that day.

Suga’s brows shoot almost up to his hairline. “What do you mean ‘how so’? “

Daichi shrugs. “Moving to a different city isn’t a terrible idea just because it’s different or because you have some other motivation for it. If you weren’t seriously considering it, I doubt you’d be this torn.”

“But to uproot my life for a _guy_? Isn’t that a little pathetic?” Suga sighs as he thunks his head on the table. “What am I talking about? I’m already pathetic.”

“No, you’re not.” Daichi slips a hand under Suga’s chin so their eyes meet. “You never have been and never will be. If you’re thinking about moving, then think about what it will do for you and not . . . whats-his-name.”

“Kazuya,” Suga supplies. “Miyuki Kazuya.”

Daichi almost falls out of his chair at the sound of the name. “Are you serious? You don’t even like baseball!”

Suga throws up his hands. “Why does everyone know who he is and what he does but me? I just like him because he’s a sweet dork who loves to cook for me and wants someone to notice he’s lonely but no one ever does.”

Reaching across the table, Suga pokes Daichi in the chest. “And just so you know, he actually likes that I don’t like baseball because he’s never been with anyone who didn’t care that he was famous for something. When we’re together, we’re just . . . us.”

“You really do love him, don’t you?” Daichi says with a wobbling smile as he rubs the spot Suga prodded on his sternum. “That aside, if you moved to Tokyo, what would you do?”

Shrugging, Suga says, “Hope Yaku will let me stay with him for a while, I guess. Finding a job shouldn’t be too bad; I’m a pretty good sous-chef. And then I’d hope to hell that me not being up front about living five hours away before both of us got too involved hasn’t ruined things forever.”

“And if you stay?”

“I —” Suga gulps when he realizes that he doesn’t know. He can’t dive out of the way every time he happens to see Daichi or Yumi in public, and his current post, while not that great, will eventually (he hopes) earn him a promotion or a recommendation for another place.

And he finally realizes what Daichi is saying. There is none of this that Suga can’t do in Tokyo, and Miyuki is there.

“Oh.” Suga darts to his feet. “I have to go.”

He’s halfway to the door before Daichi calls out, “Your groceries!” Suga wheels around and snaps up the bag and sprints back to his apartment. It’s just a hair past noon as Suga jogs to the train station, with only twenty minutes to spare to catch the next bullet train to Tokyo, with just enough time to spare to snag a quick sandwich at a food cart.

As the train speeds along, Suga flicks through Google on his phone, finding what he’s looking for without a lot of effort. He books a connecting bus ticket from the train station in Tokyo to the nearest stop to his destination, sure he can walk the rest of the way with ease.

A little over three hours after leaving Sendai, Suga stands outside the doors of Miyuki Steel and knocks on the office door before entering. Behind the front desk, a sweating man around Suga’s age glares at a computer, grubby fingers hammering away in what Suga would probably deem a futile effort.

“Bastard thing,” the guy grumbles as he stands up straight and greets Suga with a smile that looks more like a wince. “Can I help you?” 

“I hope so,” Suga answers. He looks at the name tag sewn into the man’s jumpsuit and adds, “Kuramochi-san, I believe we have a mutual acquaintance.”

“Oh?” Grabbing a towel thrown over the back of the office chair, Kuramochi replies, “This should be interesting.”

Feeling less and less that Kuramochi is going to be willingly helpful, Suga hesitantly continues. “The guy who owns this shop. He mentioned that you’re a friend of his.”

Kuramochi drags his appraising gaze up and down Suga before he lets out the strangest laugh Suga’s ever heard. However, even though he’s sure he’s being mocked, Suga can’t say that he entirely hates the sound. “What’s so funny?”

“You know how many of you come in here because of the name on the side of the building?” Kuramochi harrumphs. “Though I have to give it to you. You’re the first _guy_ to claim to know ‘Kazuya-sama’ personally.”

Slightly offended by the implication but not completely unprepared for it, Suga pulls out his phone and pulls up his string of texts with MIyuki. He watches with satisfaction as Kuramochi’s eyes widen further and further as he reads on.

“Dude, for real, how did you do this?”

Not the answer Suga expects, he asks hesitantly, “Do what?”

“He sounds almost happy. And I had no idea he was even into dudes.” A smiles tugs at Kuramochi’s face, and Suga doesn’t need to look hard to see that Kuramochi does truly care about Miyuki.

“We were,” Suga replies quietly. “We really were.”

Kuramochi thrusts Suga’s phone back into his hands before stomping over to the office door and locking the bolt. He spins on his heel and jabs a finger at Suga. “You and I need to talk.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

An hour later, Suga leaves the shop with a clearer head than he’s had in a long time. Kuramochi Youichi has informed Suga on many things: Miyuki is good at choosing his closest friends, bad at _keeping_ close relationships, and doesn’t talk about himself much. Kuramochi, however, will talk about Miyuki as a person and not a ballplayer to anyone who he believes is worth telling. A test that Suga has apparently passed with flying colors.

The train ride back to Sendai passes much more actively for Suga. He reads a baseball magazine he picked up at the station because it has Miyuki and another of his teammates on the cover, and he uses it to fan the inhospitable Tokyo summer air from his face while thinking on the sheer volume of knowledge he now has about Miyuki.

His mother died when he was just starting school and his dad shut himself into his shop to work away his grief and never left until he worked himself to death twenty years later. Miyuki has, strangely enough, never dated anyone. He is also good at mental math and loves junk food. His favorite color is blue but only listens to music if he feels like things are too quiet.

And in the twelve years he’s known Miyuki, the handful of hours they spent together catching up on business affairs two days prior had never been so miserable.

This still surprises Suga that Miyuki showed any signs of outward distress, but he remembers how Kuramochi had described it. “And he just had this gross, greasy smile the entire time, like he’s wearing it instead of doing it. Then I knew he was some kind of fucked up.”

Suga is relieved for a moment to know that Miyuki is affected just as much as himself, but promptly washes that thought down with a healthy portion of shame.

His head is full to bursting as he stumbles out of the train at sundown, more exhausted than he should be from sitting down most of the day. He goes to bed early, hoping a long day will equate to a long night’s sleep.

He goes to sleep quickly, but his dreams are far from restful. Suga ends up taking a shower at two in the morning after waking up covered in sweat and his shorts full of come, and he doesn’t even bother putting clothes back on as he drops back onto the bed. When his alarm goes off at eight, he throws his phone and sleeps in that extra hour, skipping the gym for the morning since he feels like he’s already sweated out every pound he’s ever gained.

He knows work will be hell from the moment he steps into the restaurant, and it only takes five minutes to be proven right.

“You’re lazy, Sugawara!” Chef Fujiyama chides, his characteristic wrinkled nose especially turned up for the day. “If I wanted a child’s knifework on the carrots, I would’ve asked one!”

“Yes, Chef,” Suga hisses through clenched teeth, turning back to the prep work. He dices the carrots extra perfect, and he may or may not have envisioned the tiny cubes being hewn from Fujiyama’s creepily small head.

The din of lunch service passes Suga by as he crankily plods away at dinner service prep. He isn’t angry at the work, since it’s easy enough and quieter than working on the line on a Friday lunch day, but he is _not_ a prep cook. He is a _sous-chef_ , and Fujiyama has been assigning him scutwork since he returned from his trip.

Hour by hour, the afternoon plods by. Suga doesn’t think he’s done this much prep work since his first month on the job, and that was five years before. Fujiyama is definitely sending him a message, and Suga is tired, frustrated, and anxious about enough things to throw Work Problems onto the pile.

Finally, dinner service arrives, and Suga’s prep prison comes to an end. It’s a relief to work on the line, but if he ends up bussing tables by the end of the night, he won’t even be surprised. It’s been that kind of day.

About an hour in, however, the service takes a turn for the worse when one of the waiters returns with a plate that Suga knows he made and did so correctly. When the waiter pushes it into the pass-through, Suga asks, “What’s wrong with it?”

“They said it wasn’t what they ordered,” the waiter answered with a heavy sigh. One of _those_.

Suga pulls up the ticket and looks at it. “Grilled sea bream with grilled vegetables.” He points at the plate. “Grilled sea bream with grilled vegetables.”

The waiter shakes his head. “I know that, Suga-kun. Just get me a plate of salmon rolls on the fly and they’ll probably go away. If not, I’ll talk to Kyoto-san.”

In record time, Suga sends out a plate of salmon rolls, only to find Fujiyama lurking behind him. “Sugawara!”

“Yes, Chef?”

Fujiyama pushes Suga into the edge of the counter, and it digs into his back painfully. The chef leans into Suga’s face, small eyes blazing. “Since you got back from your little _vacation_ , you’ve been nothing but distracted, uncooperative, and lazy! You’ve always been a good chef, but mistakes like this —” He jabs his finger at the rejected plate. “— cannot continue if you want to work in this restaurant. You need to decide whether you deserve to be here, or you can just look elsewhere. Do I make myself clear?”

Something cold and brittle snaps inside of Suga as he says, “Crystal.”

With that, he sticks the ticket for the rejected meal into Fujiyama’s jacket pocket and flings the contents of the plate into the man’s face.

The rest of the kitchen staff looks on in silent horror, but Suga just quirks a smile. “I decided.” At this moment, the owner and host, Kyoto, chooses this moment to stride into the kitchen, something or another about more miso dying on his lips as he sees his head chef smeared with fish and sauce, a long strip of zucchini sitting comically on the bridge of his nose. His now-ex sous-chef is standing with an empty plate in hand like a smoking gun.

“Sugawara-kun!” Kyoto cries, and it breaks the spell in the kitchen. Everyone bustles to get back to work, while Fujiyama storms off, leaving Suga alone to confront the boss. “In my office. Now!”

Not particularly concerned about being scolded, Suga follows Kyoto into the office and leans against the desk. “I quit, by the way.”

Kyoto heaves a resigned breath. “I thought as much. I was hoping you would last until Fujiyama-kun decided to move on to some other restaurant. You lasted longer than anyone else, actually.”

“What?” Suga slides from his perch and sits across from Kyoto, who slumps into his chair. “This has happened before?”

Nodding, Kyoto buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry for this, Sugawara-kun. I should have fired him years ago, but the truth is that not only does he make customers happy with his cooking, he is the scariest man I have ever met and I don’t want to be the one who fires him.”

Suga’s eyes bulge. “You mean to tell me that you _knew_ he’s treated all of us like garbage for years, and you did _nothing_?”

“And, for that, I will do whatever I can to make this right for you.” Kyoto looks up. “You are an excellent chef, Suga-kun. I would have loved very much to survive Fujiyama-kun and make you head chef. But since you refuse to put up with my incompetence as a manager anymore, I’ll send you on your way with three months’ severance pay, and a glowing reference to any prospective employers who would be lucky enough to have you.”

“I . . . thank you, Kyoto-san,” Suga says truthfully. “That makes a decision I’ve been sitting on a lot easier.”

“Oh?” Kyoto looks relieved that Suga isn’t yelling or crying. “What’s that, Sugawara-kun?”

A wide smile blossoms on Suga’s face. “I’m moving to Tokyo.”

 

 

Yaku meets Suga at the train station with a grin. “Suga!”

“Roomie!” Suga answers as he envelops his friend in a tight hug. “This is weird, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Yaku straightens his rumpled clothing and takes one of Suga’s bags. “I had a feeling you would be back pretty soon. I didn’t know it would be a permanent thing, but I’m happy to have you. The quality of the stuff in the refrigerator alone is worth it.”

Suga feels a rush of warmth towards his friend. “Thank you, Mori. You didn’t have to do this, but I really appreciate it.”

“I just hope you find what you’re looking for,” Yaku says as he hails a taxi.

At the house, Suga piles what belongings went with him on the train at the foot of his bed and curls up on top of the covers. For the tenth time that day, he opens the Swallows’ web page to check the schedule. The team is traveling to Fukuoka for the next two days before returning for a six game/eight day home stand.

That gives Suga two days to figure out how to make things up to Miyuki.

The next day, he calls Kuramochi, who proves to be a willing accomplice and the only person who has a spare key to Miyuki’s place. So, Suga begins to cook. Slowly, he dominates Yaku’s tiny kitchen, filling it with gadgets and ingredients Yaku doesn’t even know what they do.

Soon, Suga has about two hundred pieces of taro mochi and a note for Yaku not to touch them under penalty of death.

The evening before Miyuki’s team bus is set to return to Tokyo, Kuramochi lets Suga in to set the stage for the surprise. Bit by bit, Miyuki’s kitchen table is dominated by dozens of round little confections, arranged into one single, larger shape.

When the giant heart is set, Suga seeks out Miyuki’s tablet. He finds the video recording app and, after making sure it’s charged enough to still work when Miyuki gets back, he starts to record.

“Hi, Kazuya!” he starts, his smile a permanent fixture on his face because he’s here and so ready for this next phase of his life.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I enlisted Mochi-chan’s —” He ignores Kuramochi’s squawk of ‘not you too!’ in the background. “— help to set this up. Don’t get mad at him, because he cares about you.

Suga sighs. “I have so many things I want to say to you, but now that this thing is rolling, I can’t think of a single one of them. So I’ll just say this.

“I’m so, so sorry for not being straightforward with you about being from out of town, and I know I hurt you. Your goodbye note was more than I deserved, and I won’t even lie. I cried so much when I watched it.

“But I also have something else to say to you. I want you to know that in the few weeks that have passed, my life has been turned absolutely upside down. Some stuff happened to make me reconsider how I was living my life, but long story short: I’m living here now. In Tokyo!

“I’m going to try to build myself a better life, and even though I have no right to ask this of you, nothing in this world would make me happier than if you were a part of it. It doesn’t have to be a forever kind of thing. But I’ll be better this time, and to be honest, I think we might just be meant for each other.

“So, Miyuki Kazuya, what do you say? If you don’t want to see me again, just delete this video and I’ll catch the hint. But if you want to give this thing a try, well . . . you have my number.”

Taking a deep breath, Suga signs off with a blush-inducing, “I love you.”

From over the top of the tablet, Suga meets Kuramochi’s gaze. “Dude, that was the gayest shit I have ever heard.”

Suga laughs as he gently sets the tablet in the center of the mochi heart. “Well, considering the source, I don’t even see why you’re surprised.” He socks Kuramochi in the shoulder as he walks by. “And you’re totally rooting for us.”

Kuramochi rubs his shoulder and gives Suga a wounded look. “Who the hell taught you to punch? The Hulk?”

They snipe at each other merrily (at least Suga thinks so) as they leave the apartment. They have lunch at a nearby restaurant and talk some more. In this time, Suga decides that Kuramochi, while he reminds him of a slightly more mature version of Tanaka, is a guy he would very much like to count on as a friend someday.

They part ways, and since the chance of getting any sleep while waiting for Miyuki to come home is nonexistent, Suga spends his evening searching the classifieds for any openings for an experienced chef. Finally, well into the wee hours of the morning, his exhausted brain deigns to let him sleep.

The metallic clamor of Suga’s ringtone rips him from a heavy sleep, and the heavy sunshine streaming through the window is disorienting as his tired eyes search for the offending noise. Finally finding his phone under the pillow, Suga answers with a yawning, “Hello?”

“I can’t believe you said all that in front of Youichi and lived to tell the story.”

“Kazuya!” Suga’s eyes open wide as he scrambles out of bed. “Did you get my —” Groaning, he amends, “Of course you got it, or you wouldn’t be calling.”

Miyuki chuckles into the phone. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, Suga-chan.”

“Mean!” Suga squeaks, though his entire face hurts from grinning so hard. “Mochi-chan already made fun of me for it.”

Laughing even harder, Miyuki wheezes into the phone. “I’ll — I’ll never get tired of hearing you call him that. He’s going to pretend to hate you so much.”

“Oi!” Suga protests before the implications of Miyuki’s words sink in. “Oh!”

“Hi, Suga-chan,” Miyuki says.

His fist squeezing the life out of his phone, Suga’s entire body is trembling. “Does that mean —”

“It means a lot of things, but most of them are ‘yes’.”

“Kazuya . . .” Suga freezes as he replays Miyuki’s words in his head. “When can I see you?”

Humming, Miyuki says, “Well, it depends on how fast you can get downstairs.”

“What?” Suga squawks as he searches around frantically for a clean pair of trousers, finally spotting the ones he had worn on the train. “What do you mean downstairs?”

“As in I’m standing next to Yaku-kun’s doorman, who doesn’t seem inclined to let me upstairs to see you, so you will probably have to come down here before he calls the police.”

Suga falls down twice trying to run while pulling on his jeans, but he flies down the stairs, blood pumping too fast to take the elevator. He rips open the lobby door, and through the glass in the vestibule, he locks eyes with Miyuki. Tousled hair, sun-tanned face and arms, and the absolutely ugliest shirt ever manufactured.

Suddenly, Suga’s legs feel like jelly, and as much as he wants to sprint those last few meters that separate them, his body refuses to respond. His legs buckle and Suga falls to his knees, yet he never looks away from Miyuki.

But when Miyuki wrinkles his nose and raises a brow, Suga throws back his head and laughs. He can’t stop, and it continues until he’s a puddle in the middle of the floor. Even the doorman turns to look.

“Are you all right, Sugawara-san?” the old man asks, a worried frown dominating his face.

“Please,” Suga gasps between peals of laughter. “Please let Miyuki-kun in. He’s my guest.” His mirth finally subsiding, Suga pants for breath as he drops back onto his back. “Oh, what a day.”

A shadow falls over Suga’s sprawled form, and a rough, familiar hand appears in his line of sight. Reaching up to take it, Suga is swiftly hauled to his feet and flush into Miyuki’s hard chest.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Suga frantically searches Miyuki’s face, looking for any sign that Miyuki is going to spurn him, going to decide that Suga isn’t his type. They’ve come all this way, and Suga’s gut churns as he considers the possibility that it might not be enough.

Miyuki flicks Suga in the forehead. “Oi. Stop thinking so much and kiss me.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

They barely make it through the door of Suga’s room before clothes start dropping on the floor. However, even through the cloud of desire enveloping Suga, he manages to stop in his tracks and toe the offending shirt far away from them.

“Remind me to take you shopping,” Suga murmurs against Miyuki’s lips.

Frowning, Miyuki casts a backwards glance at his red button up, patterned with loud yellow daffodils. “What? I like that one.”

Suga shakes his head. “You do know daffodils mean unrequited love, right?”

Miyuki pauses and scratches his chin. “On second thoughts, let’s burn it.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it! What a pairing, and what a ride! Thank you for everyone who supported this oddball ship. I'm honored to have had such a great response to this weird little story, and I hope someone feels inspired to write them, too. ♥♥♥


End file.
